The Rocking Chair Rocked Back and Forth

I can’t remember if I told you, but I was kind of raised by my great aunt Helena. I had parents that loved and cared about me; they wanted to give me a life they didn’t have growing up which meant sacrificing some of their time for day jobs. This meant that they weren’t about to pass up free day care.

My aunt Helena, a retired schoolteacher with no children of her own, was more than happy to entertain me until my parents got home from work.

Helena lived in an old house “with good bones,” my dad would say. It was a solid brick square filled with the scent of mothballs and television static. There wasn’t an item in the house newer than 1967.

When I was with my aunt Helena we would play games with her toy village or dress up in her closet full of old clothes. I would swing on an old tire swing in the backyard, pull fresh mint from the shady corners the yard, and catch snails in the drainage ditch. When I got tired she would pull me into her lap on her ornate cherry wood rocking chair and rock back and forth until we both fell asleep.

When we woke she made homemade lemonade and grilled cheese sandwiches. For a special treat she would fry up congealed malt-o-meal with cinnamon, sugar, and lots of butter.

Aunt Helena’s specialty, though, was her homemade pumpkin pie. All made from scratch from crust to filling to whip cream on top. She cooked it like she was creating a potion. She scraped the beans from a cocoa pod, cleaned and cooked her own pumpkin, pinched and dashed the spices by hand, and always took the pie out before it cracked. Her secret, she would say, was a sprinkle of ground lavender.

Aunt Helena was never at a holiday event without one of her famous pumpkin pies. It was the talk of Thanksgiving, and she always had to make extra for the family at Christmas. She never forgot the year I ate eleven pieces and barely let anyone else have any at all.

But it bothered my mom that the pie would make appearances at Independence Day parties, Labor Day, Memorial Day, Flag Day, BBQs, anniversaries, housewarmings, and graduations.

When she showed up to my mother’s birthday with a candle atop a fresh baked pie my mom nearly lost it, “what’s wrong with birthday cake, pumpkin isn’t even in season! It doesn’t taste right when it isn’t autumn. You should only make pumpkin pie between October and December.”

It wouldn’t bother Aunt Helena, “if you like it, you can have it any time.”

“Where did you even get a pumpkin this time of year?” my mother would say under her breath.

Shortly after I turned seven my aunt Helena passed away peacefully, draped in her favorite lime green houndstooth check banket, sitting in her rocking chair with the sun on her face.

I was in school and getting a little old for daycare. I always thought fondly of my aunt, but as I grew older my memories began to fade. I got braces and acne, joined a few clubs, dated a few girls, got a car, got a job, moved out, traveled to Europe, dated a few guys, dabbled in drugs, had some eye opening experiences, found new ways to make grilled cheese sandwiches, broke a few bones, and had my heart broken and sewn back together, and inherited my aunts ornate cherry wood rocking chair.

I fell in love, suddenly and without warning, and within the year I had asked her to move in with me.

“Isn’t it too soon?” my friends would ask.

“We like each other, we want to be around each other all the time,” I would tell them.

But their question would linger in the back of my mind, sparks of worry that lit the darkest corners of my mind when I was alone.

She moved in while I was at work. I came home and took off my shoes, set down my bag in the rocking chair, and something in the air caught my attention.

I walked slowly up the stairs and called out, “honey?”

Clattering from the kitchen as dishes were tossed into the sink and squeal of the old oven opened and closed. I went up the stairs to the sweet scent of pumpkin with just a hint of lavender.

“Are you making pumpkin pie?”

“Hi! You’re home early, yes, it’s my specialty. I thought it would be a nice surprise when you got home.”

“It’s the middle of April,” I said.

She twisted her head a little to the side and smirked, “if you like it, you can have it any time.”

I was in love and I took her in my arms for a passionate kiss. All the while I held her, the rocking chair rocked back and forth.